Got any Eights?
by unavoidable-k
Summary: Set in a modern day AU, Eight is a work-from-home weaponsmith, living in a shared house with the eight other people he calls 'friends'. Just a little insight into his day-to-day life. Request. 1x2 6x8 5x9
1. Eight

**_I've been getting requests for a series of 8 fics and 8 fics in a modern day setting, so I thought I'd write a continuous story about his life in the present day. I hope you all like this~_**

* * *

The sun was dazzlingly bright for 10:30 in the morning. It was a lazy saturday in mid-August and it was obvious that it would be too hot to do a single thing.

Eight woke up with a groan, wondering just why he was awake this early in the morning when he had disabled his alarm clock the night before. Loud footsteps sounded across the top floor landing of the shared house.

Most shared houses in the area were full of university students who spent the days studying and the nights partying. None of them were particularly loud, thankfully, but Eight had a feeling they might've been scared away by their overbearing landlord.

He sat up, dark hair askew and eyelids aching.

He definitely wasn't feeling it today. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes a little too forcefully, before pushing himself up from the bed. He was determined not to get dressed today. He'd probably stay in bed a little longer, if his stomach wasn't currently doing the macarena from inside the confines of his body.

He almost broke the door from it's hinges. Out of all the rooms, his room had the dodgy door with the broken doorknob and the rusted hinged. He pried the door open, before slipping out onto the landing. The footsteps from earlier was probably somebody racing from downstairs.

He looked out across the landing, at the rows of doors the decorated the top floor. The top floor was built in a kind of 'U' shape, with the stairs leading downwards in the middle. His room was on the bottom right, between Six and Two.

Six and Two were but a few who lived in the shared house alongside him. Both were incredibly eccentric and perhaps maybe just a little bit crazy, in Eight's eyes, but they were perfectly nice people. Six was a student as well, at the local arts university. No doubt, his work was astounding, but his personality needed a little bit of work. Two was a mechanic and self-proclaimed inventor, who worked from home. Two was a lot older than Eight, but not old enough to be considered 'elderly'. He was probably the friendliest of the bunch.

On the left side were Five, Seven and Nine's rooms respectively. They were a bunch of students as well; Nine and Seven being undergraduates and Five being a senior. They were...alright, he guessed.

On the right side, next to Two, were the rooms of Three, Four and One. Three and Four were supervisors at their local library and One was their rather terrifying landlord.

It was a strange place to live. He didn't feel like he fit in here, but there was nowhere else to go at this point. He clunked downstairs, feeling more than a little bit exhausted.

Eight, despite being the same age as Nine, Seven and Six, didn't attend university. He didn't believe he was smart enough to attend, plus he didn't have the funds to pay out going to uni. Besides that, he didn't feel he needed to. He, like Two, also worked from home, as a weapon-smith. Sure, the term was outdated, but anything else sounded pretentious. He spent his time crafting replica weapons for places like schools, museums and other education places, but also made weapons for hunting as well. He liked what he did. He wouldn't change that.

* * *

Downstairs, there were three people sat at the breakfast bar. The stairs led down into a hallway, opposite the front door. In the first room, was a kitchen, which then extended into a living room. That living room was connected to a dining room next door. The door at the end led out into the garden, where both a shed and a laundry room stood. People were generally instructed to cook their own meals and do their own laundry, but they all functioned like one big family. Two, when he wasn't busy inventing, took it upon himself to do the houses laundry. He had more than enough free time to do a few chores, providing they didn't involve backbreaking work. That job was usually reserved for Eight and, even if it were chores, he still enjoyed doing them. He felt redundant, otherwise.

Sat at the long, marble counter, were Six, Five and Nine. As soon as Eight stepped into the room, their heads turned.

"Morning, Eight." Nine grinned. "You look flattering." He joked, and Eight gave a lazy smile. "Funny, that. The image I was aiming for was 'Nine hurrying to finish five essays at three in the morning, with only two cans of Red Bull and half a ham sandwich'." His hands outlined an imaginary photograph.

Nine snorted. "You literally described my night, last night." He said, lowly, and Eight laughed, heading towards the kitchen counter and rummaging through the cupboards. "I heard you typing on your keyboard. You were so loud last night, I seriously thought One was going to come out and yell at you." He snickered, and Nine burst out into laughter.

Nine was an undergraduate at the local university, studying archaeology. He was totally average in appearance, with light brown hair, dark eyes and average height. Despite how generic he looked, he was loved by (almost) all.

Five, who was sat beside Nine, chuckled lightly. Despite the few years age difference between the two, Nine and Five were the best of friends. Five was studying medical science, in the hopes of becoming a surgeon. He was sweet natured and shy. He looked rather similar to Nine, with the light brown hair, tied up in a small ponytail and dark eyes.

Well...eye.

The most obvious thing about Five was his lack of a right eye. He had a bandage, which winded around his head and over his eye socket, obscuring it's view. Eight was always secretly curious what it looked like underneath, and Five had assured him on multiple occasions that it wasn't a pretty sight. "It kind of looks like...the mouth of a lamprey eel." Five had told him, with a sheepish smile. Eight stared blankly. Not knowing what a lamprey eel was, none of what he said meant a single thing to him. He still wanted to see.

Beside Five, sat Six, who apparently hadn't even been listening to the conversation. He was hunched over his bowl of cereal, staring ominously at the pieces of cereal floating around in it. Six didn't only have an eccentric personality, but an eccentric appearance as well. He had ink black curly hair, that cascaded around his face, framing it perfectly to make him look absolutely adorable. He had dark circles under his eyes that looked suspiciously like smudges of ink, but Eight couldn't be sure.

Even stranger, Six not only wore his striped pyjamas everywhere he went, but he possessed a condition called heterochromia. It meant one eye was a different colour to the other. It was true; one eye was incredibly dark in colour, almost blue, while the other was a pale lilac. It was natural, obviously, but nothing about Six was even remotely natural.

He also had a key, attached to a chain, hanging around his neck. He never explained what it was for, or why he had it.

Eight managed to procure a box of cereal from the cupboard next to the fridge. He didn't bother pouring it into a bowl. There wasn't much left anyway; he'd probably eat the last of it. He stepped gingerly across the cold, wood floor and leant over the counter, opposite his housemates.

"What's happening today?" He asked, shoving a handful of cereal into his mouth. Nine shrugged, looking over to Five for an answer. Five, with spoon in mouth, paused, looking thoughtful.

"I need some clothes, so I'll head out in a bit to go shopping. You coming with, Six?" He asked the smaller artist. Six shook his head without hesitation. "I'm busy..." He said, through a mouthful of warm milk. Five looked backed over to Nine, who shrugged. "I'll come with."

"Where's Seven?" Eight questioned, looking around the room. Nine pushed forward his own plate, before answering. "She's at the gym. I don't get how she can go and work out so early...Just thinking about it is making me queasy." Nine put a hand on his stomach and groaned. A laugh was shared by the small group.

They were interrupted by the sharp sound of footsteps. It sounded like the kind of footsteps a lady would make if she were wearing heels. Through the door, stepped their landlord. A cold aura set over the room.

"Five, if you're going out, I need to you-...Eight, are you eating cereal from the box?"

This was One. Their stubborn, bad-tempered landlord. He had jet black hair, tied back into a thin ponytail, despite being around the same age as Two. His face showed age, but his expression was always steely. What was with people here not looking their age?

Eight swallowed, nervously. One hated things like these. He held out the box and the cereal inside rustled. "There ain't much left, so I was gonna have the rest of it." He explained, around his mouthful of cereal. One visibly winced, before sighing.

"I was going to ask you to pick up more bleach...," One spoke to Five, "...but you might as well get some more cereal while you're out as well." He said, and Five nodded obediently, and One left.

An odd silence spread throughout the room, and suddenly, Eight didn't feel hungry. He set the box down, and smoothed his hair down. He, himself, had white hair, which spiked up on one side, while the other was shaved. He had a long scar that stretched from his forehead to his chin. It wasn't prominent, like most scars, but it was still there. It gave him an intimidating appearance, which was good around 80% of the time.

He watched Five set his bowl in the sink and leave, with Nine following close behind. Six pushed his bowl away and suddenly left, not bothering to clean up behind himself. Eight sighed, taking his bowl and emptying it in the sink, before heading back up to his own room.

* * *

He spent a good half an hour sprawled on his bed, not doing a thing.

He liked his life here and he didn't want to move out anytime soon. The nice thing was that it seemed nobody was in a rush to move out either. He was pretty sure that Two had been lodging her for quite a while now, and he didn't look like he had anywhere else to go either. It was a relatable feeling for Eight.

But he couldn't help but feel alone.

As a child, he'd never fitted in well. He was big and bulky, even at a young age, and most kids found him to be a little too intimidating, so making friends was the hardest thing in the word for him. He looked like the kind of guy who would always have something to say, but that assumption could not be more incorrect. He found trouble talking to new people, or people in general, and often found himself fearing rejection.

He felt stupid in that way, but the people he'd met here had welcomed him with open arms. He didn't feel like a weirdo or a misfit, but he still had the lingering feeling that he didn't belong here. He couldn't think of an actual place he'd fit in that included other people and he found himself feeling more and more lonely.

He sat up. It was too early in the morning to be feeling like this. He couldn't be dealing with this right now. He got up and stretched.

He had chores to do.


	2. Two

Since he spent most of his day at home, while the majority of his housemates were in college, he usually took it upon himself to do some chores. They didn't function as individual housemates here; they functioned as a family. They were close enough to all sit down for dinner together, do their laundry together and generally spend a lot of time together. Eight often felt redundant, after all he didn't attend college like the other housemates his age, and often spent his spare time doing small chores that would benefit the whole house. It made him feel just a little more important.

Of course, he didn't do this alone. Despite being the landlord, One actually didn't clean the house himself. He merely kept his own room in order and left the rest of the house for the others. Curiously enough, he didn't actually spend much time anywhere else but his room. Eight often wondered just what he got up to in there.

It was normally Eight and Two, who did most of the household chores as a team. Two also worked from home and, although he had a sunny, outgoing personality, he could be quite reclusive. Nonetheless, he was happy to help out and the two spent afternoon after afternoon making sure the house was tidy. Cleaning was fun with a friend.

During these times, Eight learned quite a bit about the older man. He never actually disclosed his age, but he did confide in Eight that he was reaching fifty very soon. He'd grown up in Ireland and moved over in his twenties.

Come to think of it, all his housemates seemed to migrate here from different parts of the world. Eight, himself, was born in Brazil, to an American mother and a Brazilian father. He'd moved over as a child, but his father was adamant about teaching him Portuguese.

It was his first home than gave him a slightly deeper connection with Seven. Seven was actually born in Argentina and moved over as a child. Since they were both of South American descent, they immediately felt connected and became friends.

One was actually Russian, (which made sense when you thought about it) but it was impossible to tell, until he got mad and starting yelling in his native tongue. He had no hint of a Russian accent, and Eight assumed he'd been living here for years, much like himself.

Two, as previously mentioned, was Irish born, but he spoke like an english nobleman. Around two weeks ago, he revealed to Eight that his accent was actually put on, because if he spoke in his natural Irish accent, nobody would understand a single word he said. Eight had laughed at that for about ten minutes.

Three and Four, despite being born elsewhere and to different parents, actually grew up in Taiwan. They had a collection of souvenirs from their old home, which they absolutely loved to show off. You could tell they were itching to open their mouths and ramble on about their beloved home, but destroyed vocal chords prevented them from doing so, sadly enough. Nonetheless, that didn't stop them from shoving books on Taiwan into everybody's face.

Five was born in Australia without a doubt, but life away from home for several years had worn his accent away. It wasn't completely gone, however, and there was just the slightest tinge of an accent left. Despite his timid disposition, he was well accustomed to large insects and arachnids, so he was the designated spider catcher. It almost felt ironic.

Six hailed from Iceland, a place Eight didn't even know existed until he met him. Similar to Eight and Seven's Southern American connection, there was a European connection between One and Six. Mainly because there were lots of similarities between their respective languages. Personally, Six tended to stay out of One's way, for obvious reasons.

Nine was American, plain and simple, but had apparently lived in Spain for a good ten years as a child. With Seven's native language also being Spanish, the two got along extraordinarily well.

Meeting so many people from so many places was overwhelming for Eight, who was quite socially stunted, but it was something they all had in common and it made for a perfect icebreaker. At the very least, Eight didn't feel in any way inferior about his background compared to his housemates. He couldn't begin to imagine how awkward he'd feel if he was just plain American. That would be another reason to add to the 'Why I Don't Belong Here' list.

In fact, the very fact that they all hailed from different countries made Eight feel just a little more at home here. They didn't have complex backstories involving each other and they had never met before now. It was comforting and slightly scary, but he could deal with it.

* * *

"Could you pass me the detergent box, Eight?"

First on the list, typically, was the laundry. Between all nine of them, there were enough garments to fully clothe every single person in Wales. It took about five or six washes to clean everything and often could take an entire day to do.

Two was busy shoving a pile of clothes into the washing machine, as Eight sorted and folded the clean batch. After folding all of the clean clothes, he had a habit of leaving each individual pile outside their respective rooms, which made it easier for the others to pick up. Despite being a fairly burly fellow, he respected cleanliness. He didn't have many personal belongings, so keeping his room clean wasn't much of a chore, unlike Two, who was a hoarder.

Eight had tried on several occasions to clean Two's room, for his own sake, and failed. Two actually barricaded his door one time, and he barricaded it so well Eight couldn't budge the immovable wall of crap. He would've been impressed, if he wasn't already annoyed. He acted like a child more often than not and even though that was a loveable quality, it could be a curse.

The older man looked over to him and smiled. He was, for his age, quite youthful in appearance. (Eight suspected his childish demeanour had something to do with it). He was physically quite stunted. Apparently he suffered from some kind of growth disorder, so he was shorter and more frail than most people. He was about the same size as a teenager, and probably much thinner. His bones protruded slightly from underneath his paper white skin, particularly around his wrists and elbows.

He had long red hair; very long, held up in a ponytail and had very, very faint freckles. He wore thin, rectangular glasses and generally dressed smartly, even though he rarely went out. Despite his youthful looks, his face showed some signs of age.

"Are you alright, Eight?" He asked, in a chipper tone. Eight gave a small smile and nodded. "I'm fine. Just got caught thinking about stuff." Two tilted his head in curiosity, urging Eight to explain. Eight sighed.

"I can't live here forever, can I? I mean...my job is fairly stable. I have more than enough money to stay here, but can I really spend my life in a shared house? I feel like I should have ambitions."

Eight wasn't a big fan of major change. Moving from Brazil was the biggest change he'd had to face and he didn't like it one bit at the time. Two gave a short laugh and shrugged. "It's not a bad thing. I have ambitions, but they're hardly achievable within my lifetime. And I've been living here for years!"

The two shared a laugh, but Eight still felt uneasy.

"What about your family?" Two asked, curiously. Eight paused for a moment. "My dad's a soldier, so I haven't seen him for a long while. My mother still lives in Brazil with my younger siblings." He explained, folding a white shirt with utter precision. Two looked intrigued. "You have siblings? How many?"

Eight couldn't stop the smile from emerging on his face. "I have two younger sisters, a younger brother and an older brother and sister." He said, fondly. Two beamed. "Oh my, that's lovely. Tell me about them!" He insisted, and Eight didn't want to say no.

"Well, my oldest sister is about twenty seven, and my brother is twenty five. My two younger sisters are fourteen and twelve and my youngest brother is six." He loved his family dearly and was always the typical 'big brother' role model to his younger siblings, whom he adored. He loved having a big family; it felt more homely.

"You got any?"

"I had a twin sister."

Eight felt incredibly uncomfortably not only by the inventors words, but his tone of voice. Although he was smiling, his voice sounded empty and his eyes were clouded.

"Uh.."

Two smiled and waved his hand dismissively. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. She passed away a long time ago. Must've been about...sixteen years old, I think. Had leukaemia." He spoke in such a casual manner but Eight knew he was hurting inside. He couldn't physically imagine what it would be like to lose his siblings. He didn't want to, either.

"I'm sorry." He said, softly, and Two patted his shoulder. "Honestly, don't be. It was well over thirty years ago now. These things happen." He said, with a shrug, but that didn't make Eight feel any better. Two could sense this.

"What about girlfriends? You never mentioned a girlfriend, before. Would you consider settling down?" He asked, with a silly grin. Eight suddenly felt his mood rocket upwards and he smiled out of embarrassment.

"I don't think I'm ready for a girlfriend. I have a hard enough time making friends, let alone girlfriends." He gave a humourless laugh and Two rolled his eyes. "Come, now, I'm sure there's a girl out there for you somewhere." He teased, and Eight felt his face become heated. Was he really discussing his love life now? He'd done his best to completely sidestep the topic and now it was staring him in the face. Maybe it was the problem?

"I don't know if I want a girlfriend or not. Maybe I'm not into girls or whatever. I dunno." He shrugged, but instantly regretted his words. Oh god, Two wasn't one of those homophobic, racist kind of old man, was he? Eight began to internally fret, but his worries were washed away by Two's melodic laughter.

"Well there's nothing stopping you."

Eight felt...surprised. He felt guilty for feeling surprised. Two was a perfectly lovely man, and every time he had a worrying thought that he was this kind of person or that kind of person, he felt guilty every time. He combed through his hair awkwardly.

"You're not...freaked out by what I said are you?" Of course, it was more of a joke that anything else, but people often tended to take it seriously. Two almost looked offended by this statement.

"Eight."

"What?"

"You know I'm gay, don't you?"

The blush that continually threatened to make an appearance on Eight's face finally came through. God, that was such a stupid thing to ask! Why did he even ask? Although, it was kind of comforting to know...

"I...I didn't know." He said, lamely and Two chuckled softly. "It's alright. I never told you did I? I kind of assumed you'd figure it out or something." He said, amicably. Eight cracked a smile. "I can see why you assumed that."

* * *

Just a lil insight into the characters homes and Two's character. Just a liiitttle. I don't really like this chapter. i'm kind of winging this entire story so as for what happens next, your guess is as good as mine! of course, ships will happen, but that's standard.


	3. Family?

Once a good majority of the chores were complete, the pair flopped down onto the sofa, attempting to bury themselves as deep within their puffy confines as possible. Eight watched, chuckling, as the sofa succeeded in swallowing the older man entirely.

"Ahh...my feet ache." Two murmured, slipping his shoes off and gently rubbing his heels. Eight was used to being on his feet for long periods of time, so this kind of work didn't cause him physical problems. Two, however, was notorious for always having some kind of physical ailment.

Eight raised his eyebrows, watching the inventor. His feet were tiny! He had no idea how a forty-something inventor with a growth disorder could look so adorable! He cracked a smile and bit his lip.

"Your feet are so small." He pointed out, "What size are they?"

Two frowned at this, still rubbing his painfully sore heels. "My feet aren't that small." He retorted, defensively. Eight rolled his eyes, before grabbing one of his shoes from the floor and checking the size himself. He snorted, loudly, before tossing the shoe back to the floor. "I can't believe you have size three feet. That's just adorable." He teased, and Two actually pouted. His cheeks puffed out slightly and his eyebrows furrowed in an attempt to look somewhat threatening. Eight laughed aloud and immediately regretted it.

"Aw man, don't be mad. It's a good thing! You got a charm about you. Everybody thinks you're cute." He said, gently poking the inventor's forehead. Two crossed his arms, to show just how annoyed he was. It proved futile, as Eight lifted the inventor up and cradled him slightly. Two flushed, hiding his face in his small hands.

"Stop it...This is embarrassing." He whined, and Eight grinned. "Not until you stop pouting." He retorted, and Two sighed. "Fine...I'll stop pouting." He sounded reluctant, but Eight could practically hear the smile emerging on his face. Eight set him down, like his promised.

"What time are the others coming home?" Two asked, checking his watch, which Eight swore was always on the wrong time. Eight shrugged. "No clue. I guess around five." He glanced at Two's watch which was blatantly the wrong time, as it read 02:36 am.

"We have two hours...I was thinking of cooking something new for dinner, and I might need you to go food shopping." Eight brought his legs up so he was sat cross legged on the sofa, as he watched Two with interest. "What are you planning on making?"

"I'm not sure yet. I just feel like making something new! You don't think the others would mind, do you?" He painfully pushed himself off the couch and, due to sore heels, tiptoed over to the kitchen, where he pulled out a thick cookbook. Eight shifted his position on the couch so he was leaning over the armrest as he watched Two flick open the overwhelmingly large book.

"Maybe some kind of hotpot..." He muttered to himself, skimming the pages. Eight had no idea how he could read so quickly! Eight wasn't overly gifted in the intelligence area, but it wasn't his fault all the letters moved around! He found reading to be stupidly difficult; more so than other people and he envied those who could read without thinking about it.

"Alright...alright, I think I have something! Eight, do you mind heading to the shops for me? Here, I'll write you a list." Two said, quickly grabbing a scrap of paper and a pen. Eight painfully rose from the couch, searching for something to wear on his feet. He slipped a pair of leather sandals onto his feet as Two pushed a piece of paper in his hands, and promptly pushed him out of the door.

* * *

The sun was a little way over the sky now, shining brightly down onto him as he ambled towards the local shops, going through the list as he did. Eight winced outwardly and shoved the paper into his pocket. Two had notoriously horrendous handwriting, so reading anything written by him was deemed an impossible task. As if Eight didn't have trouble reading already.

A wave of cool air rustled Eight's hair as he stepped into the store. He grabbed a basket from beside the automatic doors, and began traversing the aisles, squinting at the scrap of paper. Peppers...chilli? No, celery. Wait, or was it chilli? Whatever, he'd just get both.

For the things he couldn't make out on the list, he decided to guess. The list was mainly lots of meat and vegetables. He picked out a few boxes of chicken and beef and piled them into his basket. He ended up grabbing both the celery and chilli as well.

He was held up in a queue for about ten minutes, but waited patiently. The metal basket handle was digging painfully into his fingers by the time he reached register and he plonked the basket down on the belt with relief. He read back through the list to make sure he hadn't missed anything. The cashier rung the ingredients up as Eight sorted through the bills in his wallet, before passing the money over. He grabbed the bags, and left.

He had a feeling he'd been short changed, but Math was never his strong suit. Neither was English. Or Science...

He decided to use the time on the walk home to reflect on himself. He couldn't help but feel lazy. He had never wanted to pursue further education after college, like lots of other people he knew. Lots of his classmates were excited to move out and attend university but not him. In fact, he was scared.

He could remember lots of times he feared for the future in his life. Such as moving away from Brazil, despite being young, produced problems for him. Making the transition from school to school was also unnerving and leaving school altogether was downright terrifying. He hadn't a clue what he wanted to do with his life. He felt...unfulfilled.

Of course, he enjoyed what he did now. If there was something he excelled at above everybody else, it was the structure and history of weaponry. He loved weapons, especially as a child. His father was a soldier and, before he left, he showed Eight the multitude of weapons he had acquired. Eight never really found the idea of joining the military appealing, like most people assumed he did. Of course he was bulky and athletically gifted, so it was no wonder people thought he'd pursue a military career, but they were wrong. He liked weapons, and there was no doubt he was good at using them, but he didn't really like fighting people seriously.

He figured if he thought any more on the subject, he might depress himself.

Once he arrived him, he almost dropped the shopping bags trying to fumble with the door and, once he though he had it, Two suddenly opened the door, giving him a fright.

"Jeez, don't do that!" Eight gasped, slightly. Two raised an eyebrow. "What, open the door?" He smiled, reaching over to take a few bags. "Thanks for doing this. Hopefully it'll turn out well. Did you get everything on the list?" He asked, peering into the plastic bags. "I got everything I could read..." Eight muttered, with a snicker. Two rolled his eyes, but smiled softly. "I know my handwriting isn't the best..."

"I can barely read as it is. Reading something written by you is like reading Greek," Eight pointed out, placing the bags on the kitchen counter and getting each item out one by one. Two chuckled, which spiralled into a coughing fit. "Have you tried seeing a specialist?"

"Have you tried seeing a doctor? That cough is getting worse."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I went about two days ago. It's a chest infection; nothing special. As for you, I do recommend you mention that to somebody." He said, seriously. Eight shrugged it off with an uneasy smile. "What, tell somebody that I can barely read? I'd rather not." He said, humourlessly. Two sighed, giving his bulky shoulder a pat with his tiny hand.

"From what you described to me, I think it might be dyslexia. You don't have any visual impairments do you?" Two asked, pulling an oversized pan out of the cupboard above the oven. Eight shook his head. "I can see perfectly fine. It's just...reading is hard." He felt like he was whining. He didn't usually talk about himself to the others, but it was nice to unload his problems once in a while. Two was typically the most understanding of the group, but not the most relatable. Two was sympathetic, while Six was empathetic.

One was painfully apathetic.

Although Eight supposed Two would be empathetic in this situation. Although he could read very well, he couldn't see an inch in front of his own face without his glasses. Eight looked over at the older man with a smile. Two seemed to spot this out of corner of his eye.

"What are you smiling at?"

"How did you get your glasses?"

Two looked mildly confused. "I...I went to an opticians?" He said, quizzically. Eight shook his head, placing a few ingredients on the chopping board. "No, I mean...were you born with awful sight, or did it just happen?" He asked, pulling a knife from a drawer. Two seemed to mull this over.

"Well I wore them as a child...Of course, as an infant, you can't really tell anybody that you can't see and since I was used to having bad sight as a child, I never thought to mention it. When I was about six, my teacher noticed I wasn't progressing as fast as the other kids in my class. I didn't do any work, because I couldn't, and she assumed I was just a problematic child so, when she called my mother, she told her just that."

"My mother found it strange. She told my teacher I was a smart kid and she couldn't figure out why I wasn't doing my work. Then she deduced that I had horrible sight and when she took me to an optician, they gave me glasses and all of a sudden, I could see properly." He laughed softly and Eight tilted his head in intrigue. "How did your mum deduce that you couldn't see right?" Two snorted suddenly, and began laughing.

"She told me she walked over to the back of the room and held her middle finger up at me. I, not being able to see what she was doing, didn't react to it and with that, she figured it out." He said, between chuckles. Eight stared vacantly, before bursting into laughter. "She did that? Wow, your mum sounds awesome!" Two smiled fondly. "I suppose she is. What about your mother?"

Eight thought about that for a minute. "I love her. She can manage a whole family by herself, while my dad's out fighting." He began carefully chopping the celery. "Your mother can singlehandedly manage an entire family? That is impressive. Takes a lot of dedication, I assume." Two commented, putting oil in the pan.

"Are we a family?"

Two ended up spraying oil across the counter and himself. He looked up at Eight in surprise, to find his expression rather steely. "Huh? As in, all of us living here?" He asked, softly. Eight nodded quietly. Two looked down, thoughtfully, before looking back up at the bulking man with a smile.

"Yes."

Eight accidentally cut himself.

* * *

This is kinda short. Sorry I haven't updated anything in a while. I had a sudden creative streak all last week and when I started writing an original story (it's about witches ;w;) and I ended up getting lazy and not writing. It is nice to see people are excited to read my stuff uwu but I'm really, really sorry if I don't update for a while ;0;


	4. Can't have a family of two

By the time everybody had returned, it was coming up to 6 o' clock, and Two had almost finished dinner, with the assistance of Eight. One emerged from his room to find Eight laying the table. He peered over Two's shoulder, to see what he was stirring in that stupidly enormous pot.

"Did you get that pot out by yourself? I'm impressed." He commented, drily. Two huffed, pretending to whack him with the spoon. "No, actually. Eight did. I wanted to make something different for a change and it called for using this pot. It's good, really, we never use it for anything else." He said with a smile. One raised a thin eyebrow. "You could use it to bathe small children." He muttered, and Two chuckled.

He stalked away from the kitchen, and sat down at the table, watching Eight lay the rest of the cutlery. He stayed awkwardly silent for a moment. One, similar to Eight, was also verbally challenged, but in a different way. Eight always wondered why. It wasn't that he couldn't talk properly, or find the words to say, he just found meaningless chitchat troublesome. He could order people around, god knows Eight knew that, but if somebody approached him for a casual conversation, he'd struggle.

Similar to Two, he was also kind of a hermit, except he was much more secretive than Two. He kept himself to himself and never bothered others about their personal lives but secretly, Eight had always wanted to know a bit more about him. Perhaps asking Two was the best way to go; they had lived in this house longer than anybody.

"Thanks for doing the laundry." One muttered, fiddling around with the fork on his placemat. Eight was slightly taken aback, but shook his head. "Nah, it's fine. Gives me something to do, yeah?" He said, laying down the last fork. One remained silent, and Eight returned to the kitchen, just in time for Six to come thumping down the stairs.

Six rubbed his mismatched eyes tiredly. It was evident that he had just woken up, most likely hunched over one of his artworks. Eight couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. Six never had a regular sleeping pattern, which led to him sleeping at random times during the day. Despite people's initial impression of Eight, he was a lot more caring than he seemed. He was silent and stoic at first, and maybe a bit prickly, but deep down he cared. He cared a lot about Six.

"You should stop sleeping during the day. It's not great for you." Eight commented, quietly. Six looked up at him, plain faced. "It's not like I can help it." He said, shuffling towards the table, and Eight felt like an idiot. He felt a strange knot tie itself in his stomach. Two, being Two, obviously noticed this. He gave Eight a small pat on the back.

"It's alright. He can help it, he just doesn't want to." He said, with a small smile. Eight appreciated the reassurance from the older man, but that didn't help with his feeling of helplessness. No matter how much he wanted to help, something he'd say or do would just rub people the wrong way and he didn't know why. He vowed not to say anything like that again because, if he did, it would only cause trouble for them, and make him feel worse.

He looked downcast and Two hadn't a clue what to say.

A few minutes later, Seven walked through the door.

Seven, Eight found, was a lovely girl. She had short white hair, similar to him, which was swept to one side, and tanned skin. When placed beside each other, anybody would mistake them for siblings. Truthfully, Eight did see Seven as an older sister, but he'd never tell her that. She flashed a grin at him, dropping her bag by the door.

"Smells good. I can tell you cleaned the place again." She said, with a smirk, and Eight flushed. Why he felt embarrassed, he didn't know, but her knowing smirk really put him on the spot. "I...left your clothes outside your door. Like normal." He mumbled, awkwardly. Seven sighed, resting against the kitchen counter.

"You don't have to keep doing that. I'm capable of doing my own laundry." She said, and Eight felt...guilty? Why did he feel guilty? He was torn between offering a lame apology, or an even lamer explanation.

"It's okay...It gives me something to do." He assured, uneasily. Seven looked as if she was about to retort, but decided against it. She smiled, and sauntered off to the table, leaving Eight standing there.

"That...was painful to watch." Two remarked. Eight sighed.

"I know."

* * *

As it turned out, everybody enjoyed the new recipe, and Two vowed to cook it on special occasions. (After all, the pot had virtually no use if not for cooking that dish). Eight slowly chewed his vegetables, tuning out the chatter around him. It was painfully apparent that his everyday life wasn't interesting to anybody and truthfully, he preferred it that way. Being put on the spot and made to talk about your day sounded stressful.

One finished first, like normal. He got down from the table, washed his plate and cutlery, and stalked off upstairs. One thing Eight found respectable about One, was that he never left his chores to be done by somebody else. He never left his dirty dishes in the sink and always cleaned up after himself. He'd gotten used to Eight doing the houses laundry, so he politely left it in a basket in the laundry room. Saved on detergent, anyway.

One by one, the rest left the table, discarding their dishes in the sink. Eight had always been a slow eater. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy his food. He certainly wasn't a picky person, but he merely preferred to savour his food. Six was a slow eater as well, although Eight didn't know whether he was picky or not. He just pushed his food around his plate, and eventually ate it. Six didn't really eat much and Eight found that...worrying.

"Maybe you should eat a little more." Eight coaxed, gently. It was just him and Six at the table now; everybody else had either gone to their rooms, or were sat in the living room. Six didn't look up from his plate.

"Why?"

"Huh?" Eight stared at him, vacantly. Why should he eat more? Because he's stick thin? Because if nobody fed him, he'd probably starve to death? This kid didn't look after himself at all and Eight found that both worrying and annoying.

"Why? Because you don't eat properly. You only eat what we feed you." Eight remarked, snappily. Six looked up, his expression steely, and Eight felt sick. He shouldn't have said that. It just...it annoyed him so much.

Six stood up and left the table without a word, leaving his bowl on the table, still full of food. Eight wanted to slam his head down onto the table. He fucked up. He fucked up big time.

Truthfully, Eight always found the artist to be...cute. He was talented, good looking, so why wouldn't he harbour very small, very minute feelings for him? It wasn't a big deal, but Eight had always become increasingly worried about Six. Unfortunately, a situation like this made the fact that Eight and Six would never be a thing, incredibly apparent. That fact seemed to make his tiny, minute feelings for the artist flare up.

Well, Eight could live without him. It wasn't like he really, really like-liked him. But he couldn't help but feel extraordinarily guilty. He looked down at his own food. He couldn't eat any more. He picked up the two remaining bowls, scraped the leftovers guiltily into the bin, and placed them in the sink. He'd clean them later...

He shuffled upstairs, passing One on the way, who flashed him an unreadable expression, which was promptly ignored. He wrestled with the door, before entering his room and flopping down on the bed. He really messed up.

Was what Two said true? Were they really a...

Thinking about it was cringy. He sighed. You can't have a family of two. There was no way Six would consider him his family now, or anything else for that matter. And the others? They could live without him, of course.

It was now that he contemplated moving back to Brazil. About a year before his mother had given birth to his youngest sibling, the family moved back to Brazil. Eight, however, stayed behind. It was strange. Moving from Brazil caused trouble for him, and then moving back years later had the exact same effect.

He thought about his family back home.

He didn't realise he fell asleep.

* * *

When he woke up, the room was pitch black. He rolled over to face the window, seeing a faint beam of moonlight streaming through the tatty curtains.

Ten minutes later, he sat up. He knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. He fumbled for the light switch, flicking it on and going to his small workbench.

He had...

...nothing to do.

His last piece of work was a stone age spear replica, fairly simple, for a school classroom. That had been about two days ago. He hadn't any personal projects to work on either, like Two did. He had nothing to do and all of a sudden, his hobby began to feel like a chore. He didn't want to do it.

He stood there for about five minutes, thinking. He might as well make a start on the dishes. Even if it was three in the morning.

He quietly crept downstairs, in a fashion that belied his bulking figure, and slid into the kitchen. He was curious to find the lights already on, and somebody sat at the table.

One was sat, by himself, at the table. A half empty bottle of alcohol stood before him and he was gripping a small glass tightly in his hand. He apparently hadn't heard Eight, until he walked through the door, into the kitchen. He lifted his head slightly, and Eight held his breath. This was...a mistake.

"What are you still doing up?" He asked, croakily. Eight paused, before deciding to tell him the truth. "I came to...do dishes. I had nothing else to do." He said, lamely, as he shuffled towards the table. One raised an eyebrow. "And sleeping isn't an option?"

Eight took the chair beside him and shook his head. "I fell asleep earlier, but I can't fall asleep now." He mumbled, and One poured himself another drink. His face was slightly flushed, and it looked like he was about to fall asleep on the spot. He looked utterly exhausted.

"Are you okay?" Eight asked. One brought the glass to his lips, tipping his head back and swallowing the drink down thickly. He placed the glass back on the table and rested his chin on his hands.

"I'm...not sure." He said, truthfully.

Eight knew One rarely admitted his own feelings, it was in his nature after all, so it seemed like he had a rather difficult problem. "What's up?" He asked in a (forced) casual tone. One closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "It's...nothing to bother yourself with." His words were becoming quieter and quieter as he spoke.

"I'm serious. I wouldn't ask if I didn't care." He said, and a rather unpleasant image of earlier's situation flashed in his mind. He internally winced. One was thinking quite deeply, his thin lips pulled into a line. His expression looked grim.

"It's just somebody else. It's not a big deal." Eight raised a thick eyebrow. People problems? It wasn't especially surprising, but something took Eight off-guard.

"What do you do if you like somebody."

He had said it in a snarky voice, as if he had no choice. He knew it was a cliche line of questioning, and he didn't want Eight to take him seriously, but Eight looked oddly thoughtful. His expression was replaced by something a little more dismayed.

"Depends who it is." He muttered, thickly. One thought back, as far as his inebriated mind could take him, back to when he crossed Eight on the stairs. He looked visibly destroyed and One had wondered why. He outwardly flinched. He'd probably hit a nerve. Wonderful.

"It looks like you're having the same problem." It was a long shot to assume such a thing, but when Eight didn't deny it, One knew he'd hit the nail on the head. He twirled his glass around on the table, between his fingers and contemplated the situation.

"I'll help you if you help me." He said, after a while. Eight stared at his own warped reflection in the glass, before nodding, gesturing for One to begin. One looked partially uncomfortable with the situation, but he swallowed down his pride and spoke.

"Uh...Well. Imagine a person who you've been around for a very long time. Not family, obviously, but...you know you're friends but you don't know the true extent of your friendship, nor the other person's opinion of you. You see each other every day and you'll probably continue like that for a while."

Eight nodded in understanding. It wasn't like the situation he had with Six, but he understood it all the same. One continued.

"And...well obviously, you like that person and as time goes on that becomes stronger I suppose. I...I don't know." He said, which sounded remarkably closer to a whine, than anything else. Eight smiled in an assuring manner. Until it hit him, then his eyes widened a fraction.

"Wait...are you talking about...? Two?"

One visibly flinched, and tapped his glass against the table. "Shut up!" He hissed. "He might be as blind as a bat, but his hearing is annoyingly good. He'll hear you if you keep making a fuss..." He muttered, almost bitterly. Eight felt an odd grin stretch out across his face.

"That...that's kinda cute." He said, and One went pink. "It isn't, and you will never say anything like that again, understand?" He said, sharply. Eight nodded, solemnly, stifling a grin that was threatening to appear.

"Good." One cleared his throat, clearly flustered by this whole ordeal. "What about you?" He asked, clearly trying to shift the embarrassment onto Eight.

"Oh...um. Six." He said, bluntly.

"..Six?" One looked surprised by this, before shrugging. "Fair enough, I suppose."

"Well...I don't know. I guess I have a tiny thing for him, but it isn't much. It's just...earlier I told him he should eat more, and he asked me why. I told him he doesn't eat what we don't give him and he stormed out." He grimaced. "It's...been eating at me for a while now." He admitted.

"Hm..." One hummed. "I see. Well, in this situation, I'd take your side. He can't look after himself properly and, you're right, he wouldn't eat if we didn't feed him. It's obvious why he'd be offended by this but he has to learn." He said, and Eight felt both relief and guilt. What if Six was listening? It wasn't like he slept during the night. What else would the night be for?

"It's apparent that Six has his own problems but he can't rely on you all his life." Eight went a bit red at this. Six wasn't relying on him, was he? One continued, "He's been a bit prickly lately as well. I'd say it's best to leave him. As for your...problem. I'd develop a better relationship with him before I'd say anything. Unless it is, as you say, just a tiny thing." One wasn't sure whether or not to tell him not to bother altogether, or pursue it. Both seemed like absolutely awful ideas...

Eight stood up suddenly, jerking the table backward.

"Thanks." He said, quite sincerely, before heading back to bed, leaving One sat at the table alone.

"You're welcome."

* * *

I have no earthly idea what I'm doing with this.


	5. You can have a family of six though

That afternoon, One actually joined Two and Eight in doing a few household chores, such as washing up lasts nights dishes and hoovering. Eight actually found, with the addition of One, that it was quite enjoyable. Deep down, he knew One actually wanted to spend a little time with Two, which made him grin uncontrollably, much to One's embarrassment.

"Why do you keep smiling like that?" Two asked, with confusion. Eight shrugged, lifting up the vacuum cleaner with a grin. "Ask One." He said, cryptically, as he left to hoover another part of the house. Two turned to One with a quizzical expression and One wanted to murder Eight.

"Uh..."

* * *

Eight smiled as he climbed the stairs. Hopefully he had given One a prime opportunity to talk to Two (or alternatively, for Two to interrogate One). He decided he'd clean the top floor in the meantime. Once he climbed the stairs, he plugged the vacuum into an outlet and...

Wait.

He stood dead still for a moment. He could've sworn he heard something...

There it was again.

It sounded like...hiccups. He edged towards the sound, only to find it was coming from...Six's room?

He lingered there for a moment, listening carefully. It wasn't hiccuping. It sounded like...crying. Was...Six crying?

Eight cringed. He hadn't meant to make Six cry. Maybe he should apologise. He knocked on the door, as gently as he could muster. The faint sniffling stopped.

"...W-what?" Six replied, weakly.

"Can I come in?" Eight asked, gently. Six remained silent. "C'mon. I'm not gonna lecture you, okay?" He wasn't sure what else to say. Luckily, this seemed to be enough for Six. "Fine." He said, shakily.

Eight slowly pushed the door open, to find Six curled up in a ball on his bed. His eyes were red and puffy from crying and Eight felt a stab of guilt. "H-Hey...I didn't mean to snap at you earlier..." He said, awkwardly. Six frowned and swallowed thickly.

"I'm not crying over you." He spat, although he was too upset to be effectively venomous. Eight tilted his head in curiosity. "Then...why were you crying?"

Six sat upright. "It's none of your business." He wiped his nose on his sleeve, glaring at Eight. Eight sat down beside him, making the bed creak painfully. "I guess not..." He admitted. "Even so...will you tell me what's got you down?" He asked.

Six stared down, sadly. "It's just...You wouldn't get it..." He sighed, bitterly. Eight raised an eyebrow. "You don't know that." He said, softly. Six groaned loudly, clearly not wanting Eight to say that. That meant he had to tell him now.

"Yeah, well...uh..." He stammered slightly. Looking at him now, he looked terrible. The bags under his eyes, usually a dark purple, were now red and blotchy after lots of crying. His unkempt hair was even more matted and greasy than normal and he smelled...really bad.

"Is this why you haven't been looking after yourself?" Eight asked, sternly. Six picked at his fingernails, wearing a guilty expression. "Maybe..." He mumbled. He looked as if he was about to cry again. Eight winced. He didn't want to make him cry again. He did, however, want to know what the problem was.

"Will you tell me what it is?" Eight asked again. Six sighed. He wasn't getting anywhere with this. He might as well just tell him.

"I got...a letter from my dad, back home..." His voice cracked slightly and Eight could tell this wasn't going to end well. Letters from parents never ended well. He swallowed thickly. "Okay...what did it say?" He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"He said...he told me..." Fresh tears appeared in his eyes, slowly spilling down his cheeks as he choked. "He told me...not to bother coming back home." He whimpered. Eight's eyes widened a fraction. He told him that? A brief vision flashed across his eyes of his own father telling him not to come back home. The thought along sent a stab to his gut.

"He told...h-he said I was more trouble that I was worth. That there was no point. H-He told me n-never to come back..." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears that had already fallen. He sobbed loudly, wiping his eyes furiously. Eight felt bad for even asking. It was true that Six had some...problems that made him troublesome, but that didn't mean there was no point in helping him. He was a genuinely good kid, and talented too. He just tended to rub people the wrong way more often than not with his eccentric behaviour.

The best he could offer now, was some physical comfort. He pulled Six into a hug, as he cried and clung onto his shirt. He wrapped his arms around him and rested his head atop his head, murmuring calming things.

"You're okay...you're gonna be okay..."

"I...I'm not...I-I don't have anybody left." He sniffled. "That's not true." Eight told him, softly. "You have us. And you're not the only one who hasn't got anybody. Two has lived here for years and years and he hasn't got a family left." He gently squeezed Six's shoulders. He wasn't sure if Two wanted him to tell Six that but it seemed to give Six some comfort that he wasn't alone.

"He considers us his family, y'know. Even you." He smiled, ruefully. Six looked taken aback, but he gave a weak smile. "I...guess."

"And you got me too. I told you I care for you. Even if you don't care for me back." He poked his cheek in a teasing manner and Six gave a tiny laugh. He still looked incredibly sad, however. Eight knew he couldn't magically cheer him up, no matter how much he wanted to.

"I...I'm sorry I was mean to you..." He said, sorrowfully. "I just thought...since my dad didn't think I was worth it, nobody else really would either. It just seemed like I was wasting your time." Eight ruffled his hair affectionately. "Well, you were wrong." He stated. "And it doesn't help to dwell on it either. C'mon, I know where Five hides his ice cream." He said, with a smile. He knew it was far from enough to heal the wound, but it would do a good job of cheering him up for the moment. Six looked blank, before a smile broke out on his face.

"Sounds fun." He said, quietly.

* * *

Eight felt guilty for coaxing Six to tell him what was wrong. In fact, it made Eight feel a little bit sick inside as well, but he couldn't let Six wallow in his misery alone. Eight wasn't sure if he'd ever actually get over something like this, he knew he wouldn't had it been his own father, but he silently vowed to help him however he could.

Despite the sorrow, he felt as if he'd gotten to know Six a little better. Six confided in him with something that had torn him up greatly and it made him feel better to know Six didn't actually hate him. Secretly, he'd always been a bit jealous of Six, being both talented and rather good looking. When Six told him going to classes was pointless, he felt a horrible surge of anger. He didn't have to work hard to do well, unlike Eight. It came naturally to him.

Eight had to admit, he felt guilty for getting snappy with Six. Obviously, he had no idea about what his dad had said, but that didn't stop him from feeling horrible about it.

Once they arrived downstairs, they passed Two, who grinned at them. "Glad to see you're up, Six." He said, kindly, and Six flushed slightly. Eight nudged him with a knowing look. "See." He whispered, "I told you we care about you." Six rolled his eyes, shoving his ink-stained hands deep into his pockets in a moody fashion.

As Eight went to retrieve the ice cream from the depths of the freezer, he spotted One sat on the couch, smiling to himself. Which meant something good happened earlier. He thrust the ice cream into the waiting hands of Six, who wasted no time in grabbing the biggest spoon he could find, before plodding over and sitting next to him.

"I'm guessing it went well?" He asked, with a knowing grin. One actually hadn't noticed them come in, and jumped slightly in surprise. "Huh? Oh. Yes..." He trailed, clearly trying to hide his face. "

What did he say?"

"It's none of your business what he said."

"Actually, I'll think you'll find, it has everything to do with me, since I pretty much made the whole thing happen." He said, proudly. One sighed, pretending to be annoyed. "Fine. If you're so desperate to know..."

"Naturally."

"I...just told him I suppose. I mean, it wasn't like he was going to let me go until I did, thanks to you." He glared. Eight grinned as widely as possible, "So...he told me I was an idiot, since he'd been trying to get in my pants since 1995." Eight's eyes widened fractionally at this, and he snorted. "Are you serious? Wow, that's...intense." That was 10 years of subtle flirting and failed pants invasions.

"Don't I know it. I'm guessing things went okay down your end." One eyed Six, who was sat on the counter, digging away at the tub of ice cream with a spoon that could barely fit into his mouth. Eight went a bit pink. "He'd...had a bit of a rough week. It's not my place to say but...I don't think he'll be leaving for a long time." He mumbled, and One looked intrigued.

"Family gone?"

"More like family don't want him."

"Ah...well nobody's going to kick him out of here, even if he does track mud and ink everywhere...or if he drinks from the carton...or if he never cleans up behind himself...or if he bites his fucking toenails at the table..." One muttered. It was true, Six did have a lot of bad habits, but he had a lot of good qualities that made up for it...

...probably.

* * *

ship no.1 has sailed prepare yourselves


	6. Ice creams and lesbians

"Hey! Did somebody take my ice-cream?"

Six shrunk down into his oversized pyjamas with a guilty expression and Eight stifled a laugh. "I'll buy you some more if you want." He offered, subtly indicating that it was his fault his ice-cream was gone.

Five sighed, but smiled warmly. "No, it's okay." He ruffled Six's hair affectionately and Six practically mewled. "I'll take you for ice-cream if you want." Nine mumbled, tapping at his phone screen absentmindedly. Five looked somewhat surprised, but laughed. "I'll hold you to that, then." He said, before stepping out of the room. Nine looked up wearing an expression that showed he hadn't intended for Five to accept his offer.

(Nine looked into the camera like he was on The Office.)

The majority of the group were cramped together in the living room. Eight, Six and Seven were all sat on the couch together. Nine was sat one one comfy chair beside them and One and Two were squeezed comfortably on the other. Nobody decided to point that out though. They looked far too happy to be interrupted.

"Is anybody gonna cook or are we just gonna get takeout?" Seven looked around, noticing the kitchen was dark and empty. She, as a rule, didn't cook. She couldn't. She could make salads and cold food just fine, but for the life of her, she could not cook.

"Takeout sounds good." Nine commented, now researching nearby ice-cream places.

Six scampered off to the kitchen, before returning with an armload of various takeout menus. "What does everybody fancy?" He asked, dumping them on the wooden coffee table. Eight leant over, sifting through a few menus, looking for something that took his fancy. "I dunno...I kinda feel like chicken."

"I want Chinese."

"I kinda want curry."

"I don't care."

Eight grunted in annoyance. "You all had to go and pick completely different things." He remarked drily. "Hey, Chinese takeout does curry and chicken as well." Nine said, defensively.

"Well...what do Five and the twins want?" Seven pushed herself up from the couch. "I'll go get them." She said, as she bolted up the stairs. In the meantime, that left the others to discuss it amongst themselves.

"I really don't care. I'm just really hungry." One muttered, watching Two looked through a Chinese takeout menu. "Mm, I don't really mind either..." Two murmured, eyes skimming the menu. "What do you want, Six?" He asked, passing him the menu. Six shrugged, eyes turning towards the door.

The twins waved at everybody.

"I haven't seen you two for a while. What've you been doing?" Two asked.

"They've been working overtime at the library." Seven told them, falling down into her spot next to Eight. The twins crawled up onto Nine's chair and sat beside him, effectively squishing him in a twin sandwich.

The twins were fairly young uni graduates, having moved over to attend on a scholarship. After they graduated, they decided living here was nice, and decided to stay. They worked at the local library, often working early mornings and into the late hours of the night.

Both were fairly short and slim, with fluffy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. They both wore the same outfit, including their beloved blue hoodies. Eight wasn't sure if he'd ever seen them without them.

"What do you guys want?" Eight asked, gesturing to the piles of takeout menus. The twins looked over a few of them, before grabbing a Chinese takeout menu. "Well I think it's safe to say we're getting Chinese then. Write down what you want." Seven said, fishing her phone out of her pocket.

Once everybody had written down their orders, and Seven had placed said order, they all pooled their change together to pay for it. Eight found a note in his back pocket and Six dumped a handful of coins on the table in the most unhelpful fashion possible. After they managed to find enough money to pay for it all (because getting takeout for 9 people is inherently expensive) they all piled themselves on the couch and chairs and watched TV.

It wasn't often they all sat down and did something like this, but when they did it was always enjoyable (except from the times they played monopoly, those times were always utterly and irredeemably awful). A lot of the time, people like One and Six didn't actually watch television, so their reactions to odd things were always rather entertaining.

* * *

"You're free tomorrow, right?"

Five looked up from his bowl, mouth full of food. "W-hfuh?" He choked slightly, in confusion. Nine slurped up a few of his noodles. "You wanted me to take you to get ice cream. I found a place in town. We can go tomorrow if you're free." He murmured, shyly. Five went a little bit pink, obviously not expecting Nine to actually take him, but he smiled warmly. "I'd...like that." He replied, quietly.

"Jeez why don't you two kiss already." Seven teased, poking Nine with her chopsticks. Nine recoiled, clearly flustered. "Shut up." He retorted, weakly. Seven laughed.

"I don't see you getting any." One remarked, raising an eyebrow at Seven. Seven stared at One across the table, chewing the inside of her cheek. "I haven't really met anybody my type." She said, with a secretive smile. "That so? Who's your type then? What do you typically look for in a partner?"

"A vagina."

Over half of the people at the table choked on their food, including One. "A...what now?" Seven went slightly pink. "Do I gotta say it again?" She said, around a mouthful of food.

"So...women, then?" Two clarified, pushing his empty bowl in front of him. Seven nodded silently. One looked up from his food. "Are you telling me, when you said you haven't met anybody your type, you've never met another girl before?"

"No, that's not what I meant!" Seven exclaimed. "I meant...yeah, I look for girls, but...none of them are my type, y'know." She said, quietly. Eight looked around at the other people at the table. "Did...she just come out to us?"

"'She', is sitting right here!" Seven snapped, waving her chopsticks. Eight raised his hands in defense. "Hey, I know, but what took you so long to tell us?" He demanded. Seven looked momentarily taken aback. "Eh? I dunno...I wasn't sure if...'some of you' would freak out." She said, glancing over at One, who looked rather offended.

"You thought I'd freak out because you're a lesbian?" One asked, incredulously. Seven looked vacant for a moment, but she nodded. "Kinda...?" She shrugged. Eight sniggered from behind his hand. "He's the last of us that would freak out over your preferences." He muttered. Seven raised an eyebrow.

"Well..." Two began, "...perhaps now is a good time to mention that One and I are an item." He said, forcing back a shy smile. There were a few wide eyes and a few eye rolls.

"About time." Nine mumbled, shoving some rice into his mouth.

"What?" One said, sharply. Nine grinned. "The amount of sexual tension between you is incredible." He said, grasping at the air as if grasping at the sexual tension itself. Two looked thoughtful.

"He has a point."

"No, he does not!"

* * *

teeny tiny chapter with a teeny tiny lesbian and a teeny tiny setup for a date~


	7. More ice creams and more homo

Five awoke to Nine standing over him, wearing a silly grin. As his one-eyed vision focused, he recoiled with a yelp.

"N-Nine!" He said, muffled as he covered his face with his duvet. Nine beamed, although slightly sheepishly. "Get up." He ordered, "We're going to get ice-cream."

It took Five a few minutes to realise what he was saying. He flushed slightly. "You...don't have to take me. It was a joke." He assured, nervously. Nine shook his head adamantly. "Nope, we're going. C'mon, let's make it a date."

"...A...date?"

Nine suddenly realised why Five looked so horrified for a moment. He waved his hands worriedly. "No, no n-not like that! Unless you want it to be, but I don't know...I don't mind, I just..." He began rambling awkwardly, and Five, despite still reeling from his words, found it rather endearing.

"It's...okay." He assured, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and standing up, showing off his toned figure. He was quite lean, with fair skin and he had quite an impressive set of muscles, probably due to his archery. Nine found his archery skills incredibly impressive, but was personally useless at the sport, despite Five's offerings to teach him.

Nine went slightly pink and purposely averted his gaze, as if he had stumbled upon a girl getting dressed and although Five found it sweet, he was also slightly offended. Most likely because deep down, he wanted Nine to look at him. He wanted the attention, despite his generally shy demeanour.

Nonetheless, he got dressed quickly, fixed his eyepatch and pulled on his shoes.

* * *

"You ready?"

Five nodded with a smile. "Definitely. Where are we going?" He asked, as Nine herded him out the door, locking it behind them. "I found a good place in town. It's easily within walking distance." He smiled, stepping out into the sunshine.

As they walked towards the ice cream parlour, Five found himself staring at Nine. His face seemed to glow in the sun, his lips turned up in a cheerful smile. When Nine smiled, ninety percent of the time, Five smiled as well.

For the longest time, Five had always had good feelings towards Nine. Whether they were romantic or platonic, he absolutely adored the younger man. He wasn't quite sure why, but there was something about him. He was extraordinarily normal, and so would Five be if he wasn't missing an eye. Nine was possibly the most generic person he had ever might, despite his slight hero complex.

But for some strange reason, he found himself drawn to him.

"Why are you staring at me?"

Five looked vacant for a moment, before crying out in alarm. "Wait, no, I wasn't! I just!" He yelped, and Nine snickered. "Calm down, Five. You were just zoning out right?" Five paused, before nodding furiously. Of course that was it. Nine blatantly knew Five was staring at him, and Five knew that, embarrassingly enough.

He sighed, before almost walking straight into Nine, who had stopped suddenly.

"Oh, we're here." He mumbled, looking up at the small parlour, wedged comfortably between two larger buildings. It had a light green and pink striped awning, and the building was painted a nice, pale blue, with white windows. Five cracked a smile, as he followed Nine inside.

* * *

"What do you want?"

Five almost missed the question, as he was too busy looking around at the cheerful looking place. It was cosy, although slightly empty. He turned back to Nine, still not being able to tear his eyes away from the decor.

"Uh...I'm fine with vanilla." He mumbled, absently. Nine sighed, rolling his eyes, as he fished through his pockets for change. "It's not about what you're fine with. It's what you want." He chided, and Five blushed. "I...guess. I'll go for...mint choc chip, then." He said, with a shy smile. Nine nodded in a satisfactory manner.

"And I'll have...toffee!" He said, brightly, chucking his change on the counter. They waited patiently, as the lady took the change and made their ice-creams. When she handed them to them, they found a table in the corner, by a window, and took their seats.

Nine smiled warmly at Five. So warmly that Five thought that Nine would melt his ice cream. He took a tentative lick of his own ice cream, holding back his own grin. He felt shyer than ever now and he hadn't a clue why. He'd spent lots of time alone with Nine, but this seemed to have such a strange effect on him.

His eyes were glued to Nine, as he licked his own dessert. As his cherry coloured tongue darted out to swipe up some of the melted cream, Five felt as if somebody had just chucked an ice cube down his collar. He involuntarily shivered, and Nine looked up.

"Too cold for you?" He joked, and Five flushed, shaking his head. "N-No, not at all." He said, politely, and continued to eat.

It wasn't until Nine leant over the table, did he stop eating.

He looked at the younger man with curiosity in his eyes. Nine's gaze seemed to bore into him, exploring every inch of his body and soul. He shivered once more and Nine tilted his head.

"You're cute."

Nine was, of course, never one for subtly. He was quite, and often accidentally, open about things. He was honest to a fault, but that just made him who he was. That honesty made Five adore him even more.

Especially now.

Five let out a shaky breath, smiling shyly, as he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. He wasn't entirely sure what to respond with, but he knew no matter what he said, the result would be the same.

"So are you." He said, but his voice was awkward and shaky. Nine chuckled, and it felt like a warm breeze. Five unintentionally sighed blissfully, almost dropping his ice cream. Nine laughed again, this time, a little louder.

"It's the little things you do." He said, fondly. Five found himself blushing deeply. Nine was always a straightforward, blunt and slightly fumbling dork. Why was he being so smooth all of a sudden. Words failed Five completely.

"Uh...thank you." He said, quietly, as a small smile formed on his lips. He stared intently at his ice cream, taking small licks from the frozen treat. It was just as Nine had said earlier. This was...a date. It was a date. The words span violently around Five's head as he registered this fact. Nine had planned this from the off, hadn't he?

He hadn't noticed Nine inching closer. Once he noticed the proximity, he looked up at Nine, with wide eyes.

"You have ice-cream around on your lips." He said softly.

* * *

Five...

...

Five didn't know what to do.

He gripped his ice-cream so tightly, the cone broke, letting the melted dregs slip through his fingers. He was holding his breath, sitting dead still, eyes shut.

As Nine pulled away, only then did he let out the breath he had been holding for what felt like forever. His eyes fluttered open, and he felt incredibly hypersensitive. He began noticing every tiny detail on the other mans face. Every feeling his felt, felt amplified by 1000. The feeling of the cracking wafer cone beneath his fingertips. The feeling of warm breath on his lips. The warm leather beneath him. The cold, wooden floor beneath his feet. The minuscule breeze that swayed his light brown hair ever so slightly. He could hear Nine's blinking and breathing.

"Nine..."

"Five..."

"I think I..."

"...love you."

* * *

ship it like fedex lads


	8. Six joins the family

Eight exhaled deeply, sitting back against the wall of his bedroom.

Just this morning, he had received a commission of sorts, creating a medieval sword replica for a classroom display. His hands and knuckles ached and his stomach was grumbling loudly.

He perked up when Two poked his head around the door with a stupidly silly expression on his face. Eight raised his eyebrow in interest.

"Five and Nine are back." He said, beaming, as if that were supposed to be code for something. Eight didn't change his expression, urging Two to explain just what he was grinning about.

"They were holding hands!" His voice had definitely raised an octave, and he sounded unbelievably excited. "They fell asleep on the couch. Five has his head on Nine's shouldeeer~!" He squeaked in excitement and Eight looked momentarily surprised, before breaking out into a grin.

"You seem pretty excited." He said, standing up and stretching his back, making it crack painfully. Two looked somewhat embarrassed, but nodded. "Yes, well...I am! After all, Five tells me all sorts of things, including his little thing for Nine. I'm so happy for them!" He said, shaking his fists in excitement. Eight laughed, wearily.

"You're more excited about it than they are. Anyway, what are you cooking for dinner? I'm starving." Eight whined. Two smiled fondly. "Well I was thinking of pasta, if that's alright. You've been working all day, haven't you?" He teased lightly. Eight rolled his eyes.

"You can't lecture me on working too hard. That would be hypocrisy."

Two flushed deep red, looking incredibly sheepish. "A-Ah...I suppose it would be...but there's always somebody to call me out on it! And that's what I'm doing to you. Now come downstairs and take a break for a while." He demanded, with a smile. Eight feigned annoyance and followed him downstairs.

Nine and Five were still asleep on the sofa, now practically curled up in each others arms. Eight felt he should avert his gaze for some reason or another, but looking over at the older man who was practically having a breakdown over it, he didn't feel out of place.

After all, they were pretty cute...

* * *

"So you two finally got together?" Seven voiced, brightly over the dinner table. Nine promptly choked on his pasta, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "W-Wha-?"

"Don't even bother, Nine." One murmured. "We all saw you asleep on the couch."

Nine reluctantly accepted the fact, and hovered close over his steaming pasta bowl. Five gave him a slightly reassuring pat on the back. Nothing more was said about it.

"Oh, Six, you got a letter this morning. Did I give it to you?" Two asked, placing his fork neatly atop his empty bowl. Six looked up with a mouth full of pasta. "Hn?" He shook his head, gulping down the half-chewed pasta.

"Well it's handwritten, so I don't think it's important. Not to say it's not important, but as in...oh whatever, here you go." He said dismissively, as he passed the letter over the table. Six took it and almost dropped it in the pasta, upon seeing the writing.

"Who's it from?" Five asked.

Six looked rather sullen all of a sudden, as he carefully placed the letter beside him, and carried on eating. The group looked at each other with confusion.

"S'nothing. It's from my dad is all." He said plainly. Eight almost choked on his pasta, as he thumped hard on his chest. That didn't sound good at all.

"All the way from Iceland?"

"Sure."

An odd silence spread thickly across the dinner table.

"Six, are...you okay?" Seven asked, gently. Six put his fork down, and Eight winced at the clattering noise. It was evident that Six was, in no way, okay, but it was a matter of whether or not he wanted to admit what was wrong. Eight already knew the deal with his dad, but he wondered if he was going to tell the others. Six actually looked like he was contemplating it.

"Yeah, I just..." He gave an uneasy groan, grabbing a fistful of hair. "My dad doesn't want me to come back home anymore." He said, quietly. "Says I'm too much trouble for one kid and told me never to return home." He gazed sadly at the unopened letter beside him.

"Your dad said that to you?"

"Yeah."

"What about your mother?"

"I dunno where she is. She disappeared a long time ago. Dad says it was my fault."

Two opened his mouth to inevitably deny that accusation, but his mind fought against it. After all, it was totally possible that she had left because of him. He wasn't exactly easy to handle at the worst of times, but perhaps she had problems of her own.

"Well...nobody's going to kick you out of here. Isn't that right?" He finally said, looking up at One for some sign of backup. One nodded and hummed an affirmative; his mouth full of pasta. Six smiled appreciatively, yet uneasily.

"I guess."

"Of course, it's nothing compared to your home but..." Two mumbled, awkwardly.

"It's not my home anymore. I don't belong there." Six said, with finality, and more confidence than Eight had expected. "You guys appreciate me more than he ever did." He glanced upwards and smiled at Eight, who inhaled sharply. He was looking at him. Why was he looking at him?

"Of course we do, Six. We'll help you out." Seven beamed, and Six rubbed his shoulder, awkwardly. "I guess. I know I'm hard work..." He trailed, nervously, and Two put a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, but not purposely. Now look at One." One looked up, rather indignantly. "One is hard work and if he's not trying to be, then he's doing it purposely." Six laughed lightly and One rolled his eyes, but smiled.

Despite Six's laughing, Eight could see something different in his eyes and he was sure the others could too. His eyes were misty and he looked as if he were constantly on the verge of tears, masked only by his smiles.

"We'll help you however we can, Six." Two said, gently taking his hand into his own. "After all, we're virtually a family here. I'm not going anywhere, and neither is One or Eight." Eight flashed a rather awkward but pleased smile and Six looked momentarily taken aback, before smiling shyly. He didn't look so despairing now.

Eight himself felt a strange feeling in his gut. Two had said they were virtually a family. Perhaps it didn't matter if he had nowhere else to go...he had here.

The strange feeling lingered in his gut, and he realised Six hadn't touched the letter he was given...

* * *

Hey hey, sorry about being away. I was up in Oxford, visiting me dad w Also, I keep forgetting to write ._.


	9. Short and Sweet

Six actually helped Eight with the dishes that night.

Eight wasn't sure if it was the sudden realisation that Six was, in fact, a valid part of this family, had spurred him to help with small chores, but Eight appreciated it nonetheless. Two smiled at him, as he headed up to his own bedroom, presumably to work on something, leaving the two to do the dishes together.

Six had clearly not done this before. Immediately, he had volunteered to man the sink, rolling his oversized pyjama sleeves up past his elbow. He winced as he stuck his pale hands straight into the steaming water, and Eight chuckled. He was used to this kind of thing, so he didn't feel it, but Six had small, delicate hands, almost always covered in ink or paint. Maybe this was a good way to get him to wash his hands for once.

Despite that, he was clearly enjoying himself. He wiped sauce from a dinner plate with his hands, before dunking it ferociously in the hot water, splashing himself in the process.

"Hey, wanna see a trick?" Eight asked, slyly. Six looked curious for a moment, as he nodded enthusiastically.

Eight dunked his hand in the soapy water, grabbing as many bubbles as he could, before grabbing the washing up liquid and squirting a small amount into his palm, rubbing it through his fingers. He then made an 'O' shape with his thumb and forefinger, and blew.

Six watched in amazement as a decent sized bubble stretched out from his fingers, before popping out into the air and floating around. Six watched it for a moment, before sticking his hands out and grabbing it with a shy giggle.

Eight watched as it popped in his hands, with a fond smile. This kid was extraordinarily cute and Eight wasn't sure if his tiny thing for the artist was...developing.

Immediately, he'd hoped not. It would be awkward and embarrassing, but on the other hand, if Six did ever accept any of his advances, it would be absolutely awesome! He grinned to himself at the sweet and slightly embarrassing thought.

"Why are you smiling?"

Six was now staring straight at him with wide eyes. Eight jumped slightly, soapy plate almost slipping out of his hands.

"Huh? Oh...oh, uh...I dunno?" He winced. He'd never been able to lie effectively and it was evident Six knew this. Six eyed him suspiciously, before shrugging and returning to the sink. Eight exhaled in relief.

He needed to stop zoning out like this.

He almost dropped the plate once more when One walked through the door. He stopped suddenly, almost doing a double-take at the pair doing the dishes, before a sly smirk broke out on his face.

"Eight, how are you?" He said, sweetly.

Eight shivered. What was he planning? Six looked up at Eight questioningly, and he knew something was off. Eight shrugged.

"It's nice to see you two spending time together. Tell me if...you know..." He said with a smile, before stalking away.

"You know what?" Six piped up curiously.

"Oh...Eight knows what I'm talking about. I didn't know he didn't tell you." One murmured, seemingly offhandedly. Six turned back to Eight and his expression looked ferocious. He had the same expression as Two when...

...oh...

That bastard was trying to get him back for stitching him up last time! Eight gripped the plate so hard he could feel it shaking under his grip. That stupid old man! He set this up!

It was now that Eight despised the fact that Six and Two were actually rather similar in terms of behaviour and reactions. Six had that little pout when he was interrogating someone, similar to Two. Eight smiled, sheepishly.

"He's just joking! He doesn't mean that..." He mumbled, awkwardly. Curse his lack of ability to lie, damn it! Six frowned at him, clearly not buying it.

"Tell me!" He insisted. "You gotta! Tell me!"

Eight wanted to sigh but he was too nervous. He couldn't say it. He physically couldn't bring himself to say it. He swallowed thickly.

"I just...Look, he's trying to get back at me for stitching him up before! I ended up pushing him into a situation where he had to admit his feelings for Two." He blurted out, and Six raised an eyebrow.

"His...feelings?"

"Y-yeah! Y'know how they're together now? That's because I pushed him to it. Two made him tell him!" He babbled, and Six was finally getting the picture now. Unfortunately, he seemed to understand more than Eight would've liked him to.

"So...you like me?"

Eight remained silent, slowly drying the plate he had almost come to destroy twice. When it was evident Eight wasn't going to reply, Six turned back to the sink and continued washing. The pair remained silent for the whole duration.

* * *

Once they were done, Six quietly dried his hands and bid Eight a very quiet goodnight.

Eight was left there, feeling more hopeless than ever. The moment his feelings had began to spike up, something had gone wrong. It sent a horribly cold feeling to his stomach. He wanted to puke.

Instead, he painfully dragged himself to bed. He flopped down on the creaky mattress, pulling his thin duvet over him, and lay there in the darkness.

He didn't know what to do. Any chance of him getting with Six was now completely ruined. He didn't even feel that strongly about him, but after seeing his face...and that horrible feeling in his stomach...he wanted him more than ever.

He rolled over to face the window, basking in the beam of moonlight that shone through. He wanted to go back home. He missed his family.

But this was his family now.

He began to think. Even if he did pursue a relationship with Six, there was a big chance of it ending and if it ended, everything would be awkward. Eight wasn't leaving, and Six wasn't leaving which left them in a kind of tragic stalemate.

He flinched inwardly when he heard his room door shift open. Was that Two checking on him? Or One? Or...

A soft padding noise could be heard, and one side of his bed was suddenly levered down. He clenched onto his duvet hard, almost putting nail marks into it.

Whoever it was, shifted into a lying down position and then curled up behind Eight.

...

"Goodnight, Eight." Six yawned.

* * *

Short but sweet. Just like Six (Also, Angel, you're not annoying, like your name suggests, ur a gift from the gods thank you very much for reviewing w)


	10. Six is like a pancake Good with syrup

When Eight awoke that morning, his lips immediately stretched out into a huge grin, feeling a strange weight on one arm. He didn't need to glance down to know Six was currently curled into his side and, although this may not've been a romantic situation, it still felt good. He still felt loved. And he wanted Six to feel that too.

Six shifted from beneath him, resting his head on Eight's shoulder. A small line of drool stretched from his mouth to Eight's shirt, but he didn't mind in the least. He very softly, very gently, ruffled Six's dark hair, and Six mewled softly.

"...Eight?" He murmured, quietly. Eight had to resist the urge to grin widely.

"Yeah?"

"M'hungry..."

Eight rolled his eyes, and smiled. "Not subtle, are you? D'you want pancakes?" He could see Six smile, seemingly in his sleep, and nod.

"Alright, but you gotta get up." He said, carefully shifting Six to the side, so he could get up. Six made a reluctant grumbling noise, but slowly pushed himself upright, rubbing his eyes harshly.

"Carry me." He mumbled, in an oddly demanding tone.

Eight, of course, was totally willing to do such a thing, but he sighed anyway, to show that he didn't care too much (he did). He leant over to gently scoop up Six, and lifted him up with ease. Six instinctively curled up against him with a big smile, but he didn't let go of the blanket. Eight grunted in annoyance, but took the blanket anyway.

He carefully ambled downstairs, making sure not to accidentally hurt Six by banging him against a wall. Once he had made his way downstairs, he trotted into the kitchen, and dumped Six down on the sofa. Six made a noise of annoyance, but curled back into a ball and most likely, fell asleep.

While gathering the required ingredients, Eight flicked on the TV for background noise, and wondered just what time it was. Nobody appeared to be up, the curtains were still closed, so it must've been early. Maybe 6 or 7?

He began methodically whisking the ingredients together as he put the pan on the stove. Eight was rather proud of his pancake recipe; something he had learnt from his own mother. She made the best pancakes. The homely thought made Eight smile.

He wondered what his parents would say about his new little family here. Would they like where he was living? He tried to picture the scenario in his head, but he was caught off-guard by a pair of identical heads peeking from behind the doorframe.

"Hey, you two. I'm guessing you want pancakes too, huh?" He teased, and the twins nodded furiously, before barrelling towards the sofa to join Six. Eight could hear them flicking between channels and, most likely, fighting about which one to pick.

It was weird, he felt like a mother now. The surreal thought crossed his mind as quickly as it came and he shuddered. What a weird title. Although he definitely wouldn't mind being a dad someday. Having a family was probably his biggest aspiration.

He wondered what the others' aspirations were. Six would obviously want to become a full-fledged artist, but what about the others?

"Hey, you guys." He called to the twins (he didn't really know what to call them but they responded anyway). They looked at him, questioningly.

"What are your aspirations in life?"

It probably sounded like an odd question for seven in the morning, but hey he was curious. It also only dawned on him now that the chance of him actually understanding what they were going to try to say would be very slim.

He turned his head to the side, as he poured in the pancake batter, to attempt to understand their response. Apparently, they were having just as hard a time thinking of ways to impart their response to their housemate. Eventually, they just settled for hand gestures.

First was clearly a book; Three's hands were outstretched and in a book shape. Eight got that one easily enough. Then, Four made a square shape in the air, which made no sense.

"Um...Square?"

No.

"Cube?"

No.

"Block...House...TV?"

Four suddenly waved her hands around, in indication that he had said it.

"TV?"

That was met with an exasperated shake of the head.

"House?"

This time, she made a kind of uneasy face and gesture.

"Oh...Oh! You guys want your own library?"

They nodded in excitement, and Eight had to admit, he was proud of himself for figuring that one out. Come to think of it, it made sense that they wanted their own library. Books were their passion, after all.

Talking about books...

"Uh, hey, you guys? Um...I was talking to Two the other day, and we were talking about how badly my reading skills are. He said it was like...dy-something but...is there any way to get around that? Do you know?"

Eight wasn't exactly a massive fan of reading, but it was an invaluable skill. He hadn't thought much on what Two had said, but it would be nice to be able to read a little easier, if it was possible, that is.

The twins looked at each other, practically communicating with their eyes, before scurrying away. Eight watched them leave with a quizzical look. Where were they going?

They returned shortly after, with a paper and pen in hand. Three began to quickly scribble something, but then she seemed to think about it. She shook her head, and scribbled out what she wrote, before trying again. Once she had finished, she held the paper up for Eight to read. It took a while for him to get through it, but he did eventually.

'If it's Dyslexia, we can help with that! Sometimes, it's a matter of how things are written out. We have bigger print books, if that'll help!'

Eight felt...embarrassed, to say the least. It's not like he was jumping at the chance to read something, but there were books on weaponry and such that he was interested in.

"I-I guess that could help. I don't really know..." He said, sheepishly. The twins nodded, before scribbling something else down.

'We'll bring you back some books when we come back from work, okay?'

"Aw, you don't gotta do that..." He assured, as he began piling pancakes onto a plate. The twins seemed very adamant about bringing him books, so it appeared that he had no choice. He thrust a plate into their hands, to share between them, as well as one for Six. The twins silently thanked him, before going to sit beside Six, who had magically woken up at the perfect moment.

Eight made himself a few pancakes, before heading over to squish himself onto the sofa beside the other three. The moment he sat beside Six, the small artist began to worm himself into Eight's side. He had a huge mouthful of pancakes, making his cheeks puff out in resemblance to a hamster. Eight chuckled, poking his chubby cheeks, earning a muffled squeak.

"E-Eighh! I'h g'ohha khohe!"

"Well that ain't my fault, is it? You put too much food in your mouth!" Eight teased, ruffling his hair affectionately. Six swallowed, painfully, and grinned sheepishly. "S-Sorry...I really, really like pancakes!" He beamed, before shovelling another load of pancake into his mouth. Eight watched him, impressed. He had the biggest mouth and the biggest gut in the house, but he couldn't eat pancakes at the rate Six could.

"Well, I'm glad you like it. It's my own family recipe." He said, putting a forkful of the fluffy cake into his mouth. It, like always, tasted absolutely amazing. He could see why Six wanted to stuff as much into his mouth as humanly possible.

"Will you...teach me how to make them?"

Eight almost choked on a bit of pancake and he thumped on his chest to dislodge the stray piece of food. "W-What? Uh, sure I can." He said, wondering just where the strange request had come from. Luckily, Six looked as if he were about to explain.

"Like...um...it's what you said the other day. I wouldn't eat unless you fed me...and my parents never taught me to cook." He admitted, mushing the remains of his pancake into a paste. Eight's eyebrows rose in intrigue. That made sense.

"Well you can't just live off pancakes..." Eight teased, "...but I guess you gotta start somewhere. We can do it later, if you aren't busy." He suggested, and Six nodded, perking up.

"I can do that!"

"Good. For now...we should probably tidy this away, before I get roped into making pancakes for the others, as well..."

* * *

*Six says 'Eight, I'm gonna choke!* - Requests are welcome!

(angel make an account so i can taLK TO YOU BRO!)


	11. Sleepy Six is best Six

The day had gone by relatively well. Eight ended up spending a bit more time with Six, learning how to cook pancakes. One and Two disappeared halfway through the day, and Eight wondered if they were in One's room.

Watching everybody pair up with each other was weird, yet comforting.

Eight looked down, seeing that Six had fallen asleep on his lap like a cat. A cringy game show was playing on the television opposite, and the two were sat on the sofa, alone.

Six was...unbelievably adorable, in almost everything he did, including when he was asleep. Eight didn't want to wake him up, but he couldn't sleep here. The position Six was in made it look like he'd broken his neck!

Eight grunted, lifting himself up from his seat, and scooping up Six for the second time that day, before heading upstairs. Six instinctively curled up in his arms, sighing softly, making Eight almost lose his step.

He gave a small grunt of relief when they had reached the upstairs landing, and he stopped momentarily to catch his breath. Listening now, it didn't seem like anybody was home.

He grimaced.

Except for the two older residents, who were in One's room doing who knows what. He could hear Two's muffled giggling, and a few other odd noises. It took him two and a half seconds to decide he was not sticking around to hear any more.

But instead of heading to his room, like he normally would, he decided to go into Six's bedroom instead. Give the artist a bit more comfort, or something.

The room was stupidly dark for this time of day, the curtains having been pulled shut and most likely not been touched for about half a year. The amount of exposure to sunlight they had received had worn away the colours, and the rest of the room didn't look all that appealing either. Most of it, however, had been covered over with scraps of paper and paintings.

As he set the tiny artist down onto the bed, his eyes darted around the room, inspecting each work of art Six had produced. There was so many, he didn't quite know where to look first. There were scribbles of flowers and landscapes, charcoal sketches, oil paintings and even a whimsical clay sculpture that looked oddly and embarrassingly phallic shaped.

Eight snickered.

Even if it did just look like a dick, it was still a hundred times better than what Eight could cobble together. Then again, weapon-making was kind of an art form, wasn't it? Kind of like a sculpture, he supposed, but then again, he wasn't sure what the boundaries of art were. Maybe he'd ask Six later.

Right beside the open door, stood a dark wooden desk, covered with so much paper that Eight was surprised he could actually see the desk. Right on the top of the disorganised pile, was an unopened letter, which he assumed was the one Two had given him.

Curiosity overtook him, and he briefly wondered what was written inside. He wasn't about to go and rifle through Six's personal things, he wasn't like that, contrary to popular belief, but he couldn't help but wonder. Maybe Six wouldn't be too offended if he'd just ask later.

Speaking of Six...

He turned back to the small artist, smiling fondly at his curled up form. He was unbearably sweet when he wanted to be and yeah, he was undeniably a handful, but that's just how some people are.

Eight flushed slightly, setting down on the bed as carefully as he could muster.

It was only now did he remember that he had embarrassingly enough, spilt his secret about his tiny, minuscule, little crush on the artist, and come to think of it, Six wasn't avoiding him like he feared. Honestly, he should have realised that when Six had crawled into his bed last night.

The memory sent a nice warm feeling spiralling through his gut, and he smiled. That was a pretty nice experience and secretly, he hoped it would happen once more. But then...where did that leave them?

Six hadn't explicitly rejected his feelings, but he hadn't said anything on the matter at all. Not even after he'd told him, so...what did Six really think of him? Maybe he was just ignoring what he'd said outright, just so it wouldn't ruin a friendship. Or maybe he hadn't understood what he'd said at all.

Eight was beginning to worry a little bit. There was a good chance that Six would never touch the topic again and Eight would have to silently admit to himself that Six would never really want him.

This was stupid.

He gently lay back, covering his face with his arms, and sighed. One and Two never had it this bad. One just had to get around to actually talking to the inventor, before they got together. But Six was a total mystery. God knows what he was actually thinking.

Eight glanced over at Six.

...

He looked peaceful when he slept. Technically, everybody did, and saying it sounded like a cliche, but Six had been so worked up about his father and his home that he constantly looked agitated and was prickly in general, but it was nice to see he was taking it easy.

Eight shifted onto his side, so he was facing the artist, gazing sleepily at his pale features and flickering eyelashes. He carefully moved his hand to brush a lock of hair behind Six's ear, revealing a little more of his face, before setting his hand down quietly, so he didn't wake Six up. Whether or not Six was a deep or light sleeper, he didn't know.

Lying here beside the smaller teen was both incredible and kind of sad. A bittersweet feeling, if you would. Being in this situation seemed like something that would occur in a dream, but the weight of the possibly unreciprocated feelings were heavy in his gut.

His eyes fluttered shut.

Six reached out, and gently intertwined his fingers with Eight's...

...but he was already asleep.

* * *

it's been a while but I got hit with a brick of procrastination. kudos to you if you're still reading this garbage. and thanks to 9SoulsAngel for translating my fics. thank you very much.


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